


Once Upon a Time There Was a Bear

by calrissian18



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comeplay, M/M, Spoilers for 3x16, Wolfed Out Sex, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forget the fairytale beginning.  Forget the bear in the woods.  The real story's so much better because, in this one, Stiles' dick finally gets sucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time There Was a Bear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/gifts).



> Written for my very good friend, yeaka, who _wants_ to ship in this fandom _so hard_ and just can’t find anyone to love. She’s partial to Isaac and I only ship Stiles so here’s hoping I can pull out something good for her, even though she’s _so_ much pornier than I am and we’re basically fanfic-cy opposites. *headdesks* I admit, it took a while to find my feels for them but I knew they were in there somewhere. This is my first (real) attempt at the pair so I hope I can do them justice. *g*
> 
> By the way, Stiles is researching [this](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/post/74851387603/im-sure-im-late-by-pointing-this-out-but) little gem.

Stiles tapped both ends of his pencil back and forth on the paper, creating a lead dent in the page on one side and shaking off loose eraser shavings on the other.  He wasn’t exactly disrupting their grand planning.  There was nothing on it but a crudely drawn ‘5;’ written next to it were the names: 

Isaac

Derek

Ethan

Lydia

Aiden

Stiles pushed out his lips and shifted his jaw to the side, contemplating.  “I still say the easiest solution is to let our most unhelpful Pack member,” Stiles shot a beaming grin over at an unimpressed Isaac, “hello, Isaac – act as guinea pig here.”  He leaned forward in his chair, forearms planted on the table and legs crossed at his ankles.  “He got the big five first,” Stiles said with a shrug.  “If it’s some kind of harbinger of doom, we’ll know soon enough and we won’t be any worse off for it.”

Isaac rolled his eyes, arms tightening over his chest, while Scott and Derek shot Stiles twin disapproving looks.  Stiles was mostly convinced they would miss the preview of the Fall collection Isaac was always wearing around his neck (regardless of the season) rather than the actual guy.

Derek dragged a hand over his forehead.  “We’re not getting anywhere with this and I have,” his lip raised, “ _decoration_  to remove.”

Stiles accurately translated that to: ‘I have blacklights to smash.’  Because Derek basically  _was_  the Hulk.  Stiles would hold up the shirt allergy as unassailable evidence if need be.

He folded up the notes he’d written out and the image of the mask Lydia had drawn into a square and shoved them into his back pocket.  The clean up had led to him lagging behind.  He smirked at Derek as he passed him, the last one out, and his expression may have been cheeky but the words were genuine.  “Welcome back, Sour Wolf.”

Derek snorted.  “Get out of here, Stiles,” he said, ushering him out with a sweep of his arm.

Stiles saluted him and followed his direction.  His head was down, digging in his pocket for the keys to his Jeep, when he collided with Isaac, who hissed like it was some great agony to be run into by a squishy human.  Jesus, the theatrics with this kid.  Stiles was about to bite out something judgmental and likely insulting when he noticed the way Isaac was cradling his side, up around the top of his ribcage.

He pulled up his shirt to survey the damage and Stiles saw the huge yellowing patch of skin that spread out from the middle of his chest.

Stiles flipped his keys into his palm and tracked Isaac’s skittish eyes with his own.  “Scott?” he guessed blandly.  For the bruise to still be there it either had to have just happened, and – unobservant as Stiles could be– he was pretty sure he would have caught that, or it had to have been inflicted by an Alpha.  The only person whose confidences Isaac was going to keep were Scott’s.  “Because of Allison?”  Isaac shrugged.  Stiles pursed his lips and nodded.  “Maybe you just try to stay out of his way for a while then.”

“I asked him to,” Isaac said defiantly.

Stiles huffed out a breath that was almost amused.  He shook his head.  “Doesn’t mean he should’ve.”  He squinted up at Isaac.  An abused kid asking for more abuse and Scott just gave it to him?  He knew better than that.  Usually.  “You are all kinds of fucked up and,” he jerked his elbow towards Isaac, “you’ve graduated from even wearing it on your sleeve.”  He caught Isaac’s jaw in his long fingers and squeezed until Isaac pulled away, nostrils flaring.  “You wear it all over your pretty face.”

Stiles patted him on the cheek, mostly because it was sure to piss Isaac off, before taking the stairs down to his Jeep.  He shuffled his keys and froze as he went to open the door.  He’d taken the key to the Chemistry lab off.  He hadn’t been able to look at it, hadn’t been able to stomach what it  _meant_.  The pad of his thumb was still sore from the metal ring bending back the nail as he held it open so he could get the damn thing off.

The key glinted at him in the sunlight, in exactly the same place it had been before Stiles had meticulously removed it.

The faster he figured out what the fuck was going on with these samurai shadow people, the faster he could deal with his own fractured mind.  He drove straight home, after texting his dad and telling him class was taking a backseat to supernatural hijinks.  It was a card he’d only played once before so, while the response was vaguely disappointed, it was still an accepted reality.

He had already scanned Lydia’s sketch and was reverse image-searching through the Argent’s database for a match while he trawled through Google searches for the significance of the number five when he heard the board under his window creak.  Scott would be in class and Derek wouldn’t show up until he had new information to make Stiles’ researching go  _faster_  – and Stiles doubted that had happened yet.

His best guess was Isaac.  But that didn’t make a whole shit-ton of sense either.

He turned around and, sure enough, Isaac was slinking around in front of his window.  Deductive reasoning, Stiles had it in spades.  Take that, FBI Agent Dickhead.

He went back to scrolling through the search results, tossing over his shoulder, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Isaac didn’t sound particularly concerned that he’d been found out so fast or that Stiles was less than welcoming.  Which was good.  Because if he’d come here expecting anything else, Stiles might have started worrying the Nemeton was messing with his head, too.  “I don’t know.”  He breathed audibly.  “I can’t talk to Scott—”

Stiles snorted.  “There’s a girl in the picture.”  He opened six tabs in quick succession, shaking his head.  “There’s no talking to Scott.”

Isaac was silent for a long time and even the house got in on the stillness until Isaac broke the moment, saying, “What are you doing?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Being distracted by unnecessary questions.”  He spun back around to face Isaac and said bluntly, “If you want to hang out here then you’re going to have to entertain yourself because I, unlike you, actually have my moments of usefulness.”

He didn’t even bother to gauge Isaac’s reaction before he started printing out information on katakana, specifically focusing on the character ‘ko.’  It didn’t take long for Stiles to forget Isaac was there entirely.  By the time his dad was calling up to him about dinner and he was stretching in his desk chair, Isaac was fast asleep, laying with his head at the foot of Stiles’ bed.

Stiles let him sleep a while longer, tromping down the stairs to meet his dad in the kitchen, warn him there was a werewolf in his room, and hear about the latest stupidity Papa McCall was responsible for – while his dad prefaced it with the Stilinski household’s most ubiquitous phrase: ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this.’

He threw his hoodie at Isaac’s face when he came back up nearly an hour later.

The zipper hit him in the lip and he snarled into wakefulness, fangs and eyes and claws all out and clenching around the fabric like he’d caught some small woodland creature in his grip and it had gone limp in terror.  He threw it off of him as soon as he realized what it was.

Stiles rolled his shoulders, stretching.  “Hey, dinner if you want it.”

Isaac sat up, tilting his head and listening for half a second.  He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a pinched expression.  “Your dad?”

“Knows you’re here,” Stiles finished.  He shrugged when Isaac narrowed his eyes at him.  “Abused kids kind of get a lot of leeway with the town sheriff.”

Isaac snapped his jaws.

Theatrics again!  They really  _were_ obnoxious.  “Dude,” Stiles insisted, “you can fight that or you can embrace it.  My mom’s dead,” he said bluntly, and there would never again be a time when that didn’t hurt and there would never again be a time when that wasn’t true.  “I can let it work for me or I can let it work against me.  I’m a practical guy, if nothing else.”

Isaac’s expression mellowed somewhat.

Stiles turned on his heel, having done his duty and made the offer, and went downstairs to stuff his face with Chinese food.

Isaac joined them barely a few minutes later.

No one was interrogated and Stiles only thought about stabbing Isaac in the eye with his chopstick once – which was one of the Stilinski’s more successful meals.  Stiles was counting it as a win, at least.

After Isaac had dropped his plate off in the kitchen, he went back up the stairs to Stiles’ room like it wasn’t  _Stiles_ ’ room and Stiles was the one visiting without being invited  _to_  visit.

His dad turned to him with an expression full of mirth.  “I think I have a new son now,” he said, thoughtful.  “You’ve been replaced.  I’m not too broken up by it if I’m being honest, I’m betting this one can’t pull off the ‘I can’t even  _lift_  the trash, Dad, how am I meant to take it out’ line.”

Stiles glared at him, bruising the air in front of him with a jabbing chopstick.  “This one’s moodier.  I don’t think the trade off’s as worth it as you seem to think.”

His dad perked an eyebrow.  “You say that as though you’re  _not_  a moody teenager.”

Stiles gaped, offended.  “Come on, I’m not at Lahey-levels here!”

His dad leaned in, lowering his voice.  “Can’t he hear everything we’re saying right now?”

Stiles wasn’t fazed in the slightest, even though he hadn’t really been keeping that in mind.  “I’m only nice to  _invited_  guests,” he pointed out.

His dad snorted.  “No, you aren’t.”

Stiles waved him off.  If his dad was going to start speaking in logic, Stiles wasn’t going to stick around for that.  Logic was for quitters.  When he got back upstairs, he was tired as hell after spending all day hunched over his computer even though it was barely later than ten, and Isaac was sitting on his bed. 

Stiles turned on his heel, not quite ready to deal with the strangeness of  _that_  yet, and came back with his toothbrush hanging halfway out of his mouth.  He pointed at Isaac with it.  “Dad says if you’re staying, there are rules you’ll have to follow.”  He added with a thoughtful frown, “Pretty sure if either of us even attempt to beat the crap out of you here though, you’re still better off.  So there is an upside.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed and he said as though it was obvious, “I’m not staying.”

Stiles shrugged and wandered back into his bathroom to spit.

When he walked in again, Isaac was tense and he said carefully, gaze darting around Stiles’ room, “If I did, would it be—”

Stiles laughed outright.  “Here?” he choked out, shaking his head.  “Yeah, no.  Dad would set up the guest room for you.”  Stiles motioned towards his bed.  “This is a one time only deal because you’re recently abused and Scott is currently channeling dickbag extraordinaire thanks to Kira.”  Stiles really could not emphasize that enough, that this was a  _one time deal_.

Isaac dipped his chin agreeably and tugged at the laces of his boots.

Stiles ignored him, shoved back against the wall as he was, and took the outside edge of the bed, stripped down to his boxers and a thin t-shirt.  He just barely heard the  _thunk_  of Isaac’s shoes on the floor before he slipped into unconsciousness.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Stiles hissed, his chest burning fiercely as the air hit it.  It was beyond too dark to see in his room and he fumbled with the light on his nightstand, nearly knocking it over.  His chest, right around his sternum, ached painfully and he could hear Isaac growling lowly under the hammering beat of his own heart.

Finally he found the switch on his lamp and he closed his eyes with a groan as it flared to life.  When orange was no longer being seared into the backs of his eyelids, Stiles chanced a glance down at his chest.

Four slashes were etched into his flesh and ripped through his shirt.  It was like the top layer of skin had been removed, the wounds shallow but  _stinging_.  There was hardly any blood but the prickle of pain was  _intense_.  Stiles sucked in a sharp cut of air through his teeth as he tried to sit up.  The growl had stopped abruptly and Stiles saw Isaac blink down at his torso from his periphery.  His eyes widened.

“Sorry,” Isaac said, gulping the words, “you were thrashing and I was still out.  I didn’t know it was—”

Stiles’ spit bubbled between his teeth.  “Yeah,” he said, mouth twisting, “you thought—Well, I get what you thought.  Stings like a bitch.”  Stiles pulled off his shirt one-handedly so it was inside out, wadded it up and pressed it to the cuts.  It caused a disabling sort of pain and Stiles couldn’t seem to focus on anything else.

“Sorry,” Isaac said again, and he did sound it.  His gaze trailed away from the claw marks to the heave of Stiles’ shoulders, down to the contraction of the muscles in his abdomen.

“What?” Stiles demanded.

Isaac shook his head.  “Nothing.”  He pulled his gaze away from Stiles’ bare hip and said quickly, “I should go.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Don’t be a melodramatic idiot.”  He forced himself to sit up even through the twinge of agony.  “You’d think you’d be a little more comfortable with the sight of blood given your history.”

Isaac almost laughed – though it wasn’t due to any sort of amusement.  He folded his lower lip into his mouth, biting into the fleshy side of it.  “You really never miss an opportunity, do you?”

Stiles thought about pointing out that he specifically  _hadn’t_  said that Isaac had lashed out because he’d thought he was being beaten, though he could have bucked the implication and stated it outright.  Instead he said, “Hey, at least  _I’m_  not pounding away on you.”  Maybe that one hadn’t been the better option. 

“I  _am_  sorry.  Less sorry than I was,” Isaac muttered, “but still sorry.”  He stared at where Stiles was pressing into the marks with his shirt and wrinkled his nose.  “Can I get you something, a bandage, antiseptic… anything other than a sweat-soaked t-shirt?”

Stiles snorted.  “Suck my dick, dude.”  He swept his arm out over his room, the one that didn’t have hold of the wad of his shirt.  “If we go to the videotape, I think you’ll remember that you’re the whole reason I’m in this fucking predicament.”  He glanced back over at Isaac, only to find he was focused on something else entirely.  Stiles’ eyes widened.  “Wow, you’re just not even trying to hide that.”  Isaac licked his lip and Stiles was torn between amusement, arousal and horror.  “You couldn’t look  _more_  like you took that literally if you tried.”

“What are you talking about?”

Stiles jerked Isaac’s chin up forcefully so he could stare into his eyes and judge him properly.  “Dude, you are talking  _to_  my dick and you have to ask me that?”  He drew up his feet so they were planted flat on the bed and spread his thighs.  “If you want to suck me off, I’m  _really_  not going to stop you.”

Isaac stared blankly at him, like he wasn’t sure if he could trust the offer.  Seriously though, what guy was going to turn that down?  He bit into his cheek, darted a glance up at Stiles, and slung a long leg over his calves, putting his face level with Stiles’ navel.  He inhaled deeply around the hem of Stiles’ boxers and licked and tugged on the happy trail that led down to Stiles’ cock.

There was something like trepidation and maybe genuine fear in his gaze and Stiles let his head drop back against his pillow as he realized: “And you have never done this before.”  He lifted up enough that he could see Isaac’s face as he shook his head.  “You have never done anything even on this level before,” Stiles clarified and it wasn’t really a question so Isaac didn’t really answer.  Stiles snorted and brought his palm up to his forehead.  “What the hell even  _is_  your relationship with Allison?” he wondered out loud. 

“Honestly?”  Isaac’s lips brushed his stomach and Stiles felt it shudder and tighten in response.  “Sexless,” he breathed and the exhalation caused goosebumps to rise on Stiles’ skin.   “We haven’t even kissed.”

Stiles swallowed, staring up at his ceiling rather than down at Isaac.  He reached out with a blind hand and found the ball of Isaac’s shoulder.  He dug his fingers in.  “Suddenly much more aware of your penchant for growing fangs,” he said, dropping his free hand down against his own forehead again, fingers balled into a loose fist. 

Isaac brushed his lower lip back and forth across Stiles’ stomach.  There was a slight wetness to it and Stiles could feel a trail of cold follow the drag of his mouth.  Which was when he realized he couldn’t feel the throb in his chest any longer, and hadn’t been able to for he didn’t know how long.  Stiles propped his head up.  Isaac’s hands were folded over his hips and black lines were running up his forearms.  He didn’t even seem to realize what he was doing.

He bared a mouth full of sharp teeth at Stiles, the elongated points digging into his lip.  “I’ll keep them in check,” he slurred out around the fangs.

Stiles let out a breathless and strangled sort of laugh.  “So much less funny than you seem to think,” he said tightly.

When he looked back, the fangs were gone and Isaac was mouthing at Stiles’ hard cock through his cotton boxers and suddenly Stiles found himself wishing they were as thin as his t-shirt had been.  Before Isaac had murdered it, that was.  He could still feel the hot exhalation of breath, the warmth and wetness of Isaac’s mouth and the drag of his tongue as he licked up the length of him from base to tip through the fabric.  Isaac purposefully let out a warm breath right over the head.  He glanced up at Stiles, perking his eyebrows.  “I’ll be careful.”  It almost sounded like a question. 

Stiles gritted his teeth, staring back at him.  “Hey, here’s a suggestion, sound more confident and less like you’re trying to convince yourself of that.”

Isaac hummed, lips resting just under the ridge of the head of Stiles’ cock.  He didn’t move them as he murmured, looking slightly surprised, “You’re still going to let me do it?”

Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes at himself.  “I’m a teenage boy.”  He clenched his hand on Isaac’s shoulder as he slowly started to tug down the band of Stiles’ boxers, inch by inch.   Stiles flexed his jaw.  “As a group, we’re not exactly known for our excellent decision-making skills.”  He lifted his hips, rolling them slightly.  “Yeah,” he said breathily, “I’m gonna let you do it.”

The elastic dragged his cock down with it so when he was finally free of its confines, he sprang back up in front of Isaac’s wide eyes.

Stiles spread his thighs, feeling his cock throb, hot and heavy against his stomach.  His feet dug into the comforter, nails biting into Isaac’s skin on one hand and fisting his sheets with the other.  He circled his hips on the mattress, trying to do anything other than grab a handful of curly hair and shove Isaac’s face down on his dick.

Isaac half-heartedly bit and licked his lip while Stiles clenched his toes and his ass, desperate not to press him.  He wasn’t that guy, that douchebag guy who pushes it.  He wasn’t  _Jackson_.  If Isaac backed out of this then Stiles would walk out, jerk himself off in the bathroom and get the fuck over it.

It didn’t come to that though.  Instead, Isaac firmly wrapped a hand around the base of Stiles’ cock and sealed his mouth over the head.  Even that much was  _intense_  and Stiles automatically lifted his hips, mouth falling open.  The sensation made the hair on his thighs stand on end and he felt a choked moan catch in his throat.  He was just as inexperienced as Isaac and he had no idea how to keep himself still.

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed while Isaac suctioned his mouth tight and  _sucked_.  Stiles’ hips rolled up into it.  “You—You gotta hold me down.” 

Isaac pulled off, brow furrowed, and Stiles groaned in pure frustration.

He let himself chase a few breaths, chest heaving, before picking up his hand off Isaac’s shoulder and the other off the bed.  The fingers of both were stiff from how hard he’d been clenching them.  He placed his hands over top of Isaac’s on his hips and gripped them so hard that it had to hurt, even for a werewolf.  He awkwardly pushed them down, showing Isaac how to pin him to the bed.  “Hold me down or I’m gonna choke you.  Can’t stop it,” he panted out.

Isaac’s hands tightened in understanding and Stiles felt a fierce pressure driving his hips into the mattress.  As soon as Isaac had a grip on him, he caught the bob of Stiles’ cock with his mouth and tried to take him all the way in.  He gagged slightly but even the flutter at the back of his throat was beyond perfect.

He was sloppy and teeth occasionally made an appearance and he couldn’t keep a rhythm for shit, but he was enthusiastic and determined and Stiles made all of it work for him in one way or another.  He kept one hand on Isaac’s shoulder, making sure his bruises stayed put, and smoothed the other over the back of his neck, which was warm and slick with sweat.  Occasionally, Stiles would let his fingers sneak up, sliding through wet curls to tangle in the locks, encouraging Isaac’s head back down when he tried to pull off after a particularly good stroke of his tongue.

Isaac never fought him, going with the drag of Stiles’ hand even when he clearly needed the break.

Stiles’ hips were still struggling to push up against Isaac’s hands, grunts and moans catching in his chest and toes curling against Isaac’s hipbones, when he felt sudden pricks in his sides.

He swallowed, staring down, and pulled Isaac off his cock with a regretful whine.  He tried to catch his breath first but the words still came out strangled, garbled.  “Isaac—Isaac, shit.”

Isaac licked his lips and it was clear, poor cocksucker or not, he was definitely  _enjoying_  himself doing it.  His eyes were bright, gold and fevered, and his preternatural gaze kept slipping down to the wet, red head of Stiles’ cock.  “What?” he asked, breathless, impatient.

Stiles pulled a palm away to tap a finger against the back of one of Isaac’s hands.  Claws were creating little divots in Stiles’ flesh.  They hadn’t broken skin yet but they were poised to.

“St—starting to shift,” he stuttered out while Isaac pressed his tongue in under Stiles’ foreskin, circling the tip under the ridge of his head.   _Oh fuck._   There weren’t any fangs yet but it was only a matter of time.  Stiles gasped as Isaac drove as deep with his tongue as he could.  God, he didn’t want to stop but there were other things they could do.  Things that didn’t involve a mouth full of fangs near his crotch.   “We can—” he started, breathless.

Isaac seemed to have expected to be put off and his eyes glowed even more golden.  “I want to feel you come in my mouth,” he said desperately, claws tipping a little deeper into Stiles’ skin.

Fuck, Stiles wanted it too and he was circling his hips against the mattress, trying to get to Isaac’s mouth against his restraining grip, even as he sought to put a stop to it.  He closed his eyes, licked his lower lip.  “Then keep your goddamn claws to yourself,” he said with a groan before Isaac was impaling himself on Stiles’ dick again.  Stiles threw a forearm over his eyes, hissing, “ _Fuck_.”

He wasn’t going to last much longer, the mix of danger and teetering frustration and Isaac’s questing tongue was enough to have him riding the edge.  It was when Isaac reached down, brushing a thumb over his already drawn up balls that Stiles came hard into his mouth.

Isaac let go of one of his hips instantly, swallowing  _around_  Stiles’ slowly softening dick, to reach down and get a hand around himself.

He sucked until Stiles hissed in decidedly more pain than pleasure and then his sole focus became burying his face in the crease where Stiles’ thigh met his groin and inhaling deeply while he pumped his dick.

Stiles lifted a foot and carefully eased it down the back of Isaac’s boxers and jeans.  They were tented loosely over his ass, unbuttoned in the front but not lowered any and it was enough room for him to get in.  He dragged a toe down the crack of Isaac’s ass and Isaac’s hips stuttered forward with rabbiting twitches while he moaned, low and loud.

Stiles pressed in where he thought Isaac’s hole might be, trying to get some pressure on it, when Isaac  _roared_ , fangs prominent, and he shifted up enough that he could come on the heave of Stiles’ stomach.

He was whuffing, more like a wolf than a man, as he came down from the high, staring at his own come on Stiles’ abdomen with animal eyes.  He tilted his head to the side unblinkingly.  He brought up a clawed hand, angled the ends away from Stiles’ skin and carefully spread his come over Stiles’ stomach, up his sides, across his chest, rubbing it into him.

Stiles was too exhausted, limbs weak, head fuzzy, and weary down to his fucking  _bones_  to stop him.

Isaac kept at it for what felt like an endless chunk of time, languidly massaging his come into Stiles’ pores, trying to get it deep and permanent.

Eventually Stiles snorted, feeling relaxed and boneless.  “Spectacularly gross, dude,” he commented.  He looked down at his chest with a frown.  “And now grosser and stickier, and my dad happens to be a sheriff.”  Isaac looked up at him lazily, mildly curious.  “Two people in one bedroom, showering in the middle of the night, it doesn’t exactly take a trained eye.  Which means I’m stuck like this until morning.”

Isaac sounded fuck-drunk, fangs and sideburns still out but the claws were gone.  “S’nice.”

“For  _you_ ,” Stiles said with a scoff.  He pushed Isaac back so he wasn’t looming over him, drawing patterns with a finger on his sticky skin.  Now that Stiles was coming down from his own orgasm, he wasn’t all that keen on being touched.  “Seriously,” he said with a bruised laugh, “never letting you suck my dick again, the fangs were out the second after you pulled off.  Too close for comfort, man.”  He snatched up his pillow and pulled the blanket off the end of his bed, slipping off the mattress.

Isaac blinked heavy-lidded eyes at him, sliding slowly closed over gold before opening again.  “What are you doing?”  He suppressed a yawn.

Stiles cracked his back, arranging the pillow and blanket on the floor a foot or so away from the bed.  “Sleeping on the floor,” he grunted back.  He perked his brows in Isaac’s direction.  “You’re all wolfed out and I thrash.”  He waved a hand.  “That is not a combination I’m interested in seeing the aftermath of a second time.”  He lay down on the floor, already knowing it was going to be hell to sleep on.  “Can’t wait until you’re safely down at the end of the hall where fangs are not an inch away from my number one favorite body part,” he muttered to himself.

This time Isaac did yawn.  “‘S’mine, too,” he said tiredly.  He flopped down, yawned again, and pronounced, “Want you to fuck me with it.”

Stiles felt his heart stutter in his chest before starting back up again.  His opportunistic dick gave a twitch.  He made himself say sneeringly, “Yeah, well, good.  Wanting things builds character.”

He could see Isaac’s sharp grin in the dark.  Yeah, he’d bought that line for exactly as much as it was worth.   _Zilch._

**Author's Note:**

> Come [play](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/) with me?


End file.
